The Next Day
The fighters' waiting room buzzed with energy—low voices and pacing footsteps. Outside, the coliseum roared with excitement. The crowd's energy didn't just match yesterday's—it surged past it.
"Ohhh, I can't wait!" Lia said, practically bouncing in her seat, rubbing her hands together with glee.
Dirk, sitting beside her with arms crossed, offered a quiet nod. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for him," he said, before a grin broke through his usually stoic features. "But I'm a little worried."
Lia blinked and turned to him, confusion creeping into her face—until he added flatly:
"For his opponent, that is."
Elsewhere in the stands, Drift leaned over to his friend. "So, who are you betting on today, Jeffery?" he asked, his tone casual. "I mean, today's a pretty safe bet. For the first match at least."
Jeffery had his eyes closed, rubbing his chin in exaggerated thought. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he grinned. "Got it. I'm going with the sorceress."
Drift blinked. "The sorceress? Not the Mathers?" He looked at his friend like he'd just confessed to seeing the future in a puddle.
"Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds weird," Jeffery said, waving a hand. "But while you went off to sleep early last night, I actually asked around. She's well-known—a respected sorceress with a solid reputation. Multiple sources, not just rumors."
"And the Mathers?" he continued, raising a brow. "Nobody even knew who he was before the tournament started. And did you forget how he fought the head of his family? I'm telling you, that guy is not making it past this match."
He placed a confident hand on his chest and laughed. "So get ready to give me your coin!"
Drift stared at him flatly. "Uh huh. No wonder you lose all our bets."
In one of the VIP stands, Samwell Mathers sat in rigid silence, his gaze fixed forward, unreadable. Next to him, Matthew appeared equally calm, but a faint glimmer of anticipation and excitement crept into his eyes, bubbling in his chest.
*I wonder how he'll fight,* Matthew mused, his thoughts drifting to the arena floor.
In another VIP stand, Zara leaned slightly toward her brother. "How do you think this match will go, Mark?"
Prince Mark didn't turn his head. "I don't know enough about either fighter—or magic—to say."
He paused for a second, then added, "You've fought a magic user before. What do you think?"
Zara's heart skipped. Her brother… wanted her opinion?
Her cheeks warmed noticeably. "I-I don't think they'll use magic in the same way, but if they d-do… I'll be able to tell," she said, a bit too quickly, her voice tinged with excitement that cornered Mark in a way that made him blink—but he said nothing.
In another VIP stand, the Emperor of Aeruna's eyes were fixed on the arena below.
"The first match of today is the one I feel like I've anticipated most," he said, his voice calm.
Tianteng stood beside him, arms folded. A small smirk tugged at her lips. "I understand, my Emperor. Magic is… different. It brings a flavor to battle that few others can match." She inhaled deeply and gave a nod. "I feel the same."
In fighters' waiting room, "This will be a match to behold," Calvinel said with a smirk while tapping his finger against his elbow—a quiet signal of rising excitement.
"Two magic users battling each other in an arena," Hittag added, arms crossed as he stared through the viewing window. "You don't see it nearly enough."
"I feel like I'm going to need a lot explained to me," Xain muttered, pressing closer to the glass, squinting as if that might help him understand more.
Mae leaned in toward him with a grin that suggested trouble. "Aw, do you know nothing about magic?"
"Don't worry," said Ulrich, nodding toward Calvinel and Vilak. "We've got maybe two people who can explain things to the rest of us."
"I… I guess I could explain a little," said the necromancer quietly, gripping his staff with both hands as the attention turned to him.
Calvinel gave a half-shrug. "Just don't expect much from me—it's not my specialty."
Even and Annabel were nowhere to be seen—they'd already gone to their starting spots, preparing for what was to come.
Back in the arena, Quincy shot up into the air, her wings catching the sunlight as she flew high above the arena with a dramatic flair. Her voice rang clear across the space.
"Everyone! Thank you for coming to the fourth day of the Tournament of Greatness!"
She threw her arms out and gave a sharp yet smooth spin in midair.
"Today's first match is too exciting even for me! So I won't take up any more of your time!"
With that, she descended rapidly, hovering just above the center of the arena floor. With a flourish, she threw her arms out toward the colossal arena walls and twirled her fingers upward. The walls responded instantly—grinding open with a rumbling groan.
"On one side!" she cried, voice booming, "We have a sorceress some of you may already know! A woman who came here to forge connections and elevate her standing—one whose appearance might fool you, but make no mistake: she is one of the most dangerous individuals in this tournament. It's Annabel Lamia, The Sorceress!"
From the east wall, Annabel strode into the arena, her robes catching the wind like a banner. Her long black hair flowed behind her as she swept a strand behind her ear and lifted her gaze to the crowd with a slow, confident smirk. Then, with the barest rub of her hands, she conjured forth blue flames—azure in hue—that danced between her fingers, showing off her magic as the crowd erupted into cheers.
Somewhere in the front row, Amara narrowed her eyes at the display.
"Annabel Lamia," she murmured, her tone unreadable. "What a dangerous woman to be here."
She remembered her. They'd crossed paths before—briefly, on a mission. Neither of them had caught the other's name, but that brief engagement had been enough. Amara had known from the moment their magics clashed that this woman was no ordinary sorceress.
Elsewhere in the front row, Clara was practically shaking Elsa's shoulder. "Look, Elsa!" she said, pointing at Annabel. "She's using blue flames! And it's not regular blue—it's azure blue! She's using her soul flame!"
Elsa nodded slowly, her eyes locked on the flame. "And she's using them just for display? How much mana does she have?" she muttered under her breath, awed.
Quincy's voice rang out again, full of infectious excitement. "On the other side!" she shouted, "We have a man who shocked the crowd, the fighters, the VIPs—and yes, even me! A man who came here to—oops, that's a secret I can't share!"
She paused, one hand raised to her lips in mock secrecy.
"But some of the mercenaries in the crowd may know him under another name. Jakel! It's Even Mathers!"
From the west wall, Even stepped out calmly, rifle slung over one shoulder. His hair, once spiked, now fell in a more natural shape, swept back and calmer. His right hand—now marked with a new, vivid red symbol—ran through it once before falling back to his side. He lifted his gaze toward one of the VIP stands. For a moment, his eyes met those of his father and brother. None of them spoke. No one moved. Then Even turned away.
Quincy clapped her hands—and… nothing changed.
"Sorry! I'm not changing the arena today!" she announced with a grin. "After all, we have two magic users to do it for me today~"
Her eyes glinted as she looked from one fighter to the other. Then she raised her arm high above her head and slashed it down in a single, sharp motion.
"BEGIN!"